


Tangerine Pies and Red Coats

by talkofsummertime



Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Canon Compliant, Emira and Maxim are mentioned, Gen, It's Kell's birthday and he's having an identity crisis, Memory Magic, Pre-Canon, They're both dramatic kids okay, Tieren as the wise old man, both are great brothers for each other they just don't know that, i suck at tags and writing from a child's pov sorry, sort of angsty with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 08:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25347877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkofsummertime/pseuds/talkofsummertime
Summary: "The week he was turning thirteen, Kell Maresh decided he no longer liked birthdays."A pre-canon but canon compliant imagining of the week Kell turned thirteen.
Relationships: Kell Maresh & Rhy Maresh
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Tangerine Pies and Red Coats

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I simply couldn't stop myself from writing something short for Kell's birthday but I postponed proofreading and posting it, so here it is, a week a late and not even short.
> 
> The story takes place the same year Kell learns about the mark on his arm and a year before Rhy gets kidnapped. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

The week he was turning thirteen, Kell Maresh decided he no longer liked birthdays.

And he didn’t know why. This year’s birthday was not was not supposed to be very different, unlike his tenth birthday which had been very special and grandiose as a milestone, just like Rhy’s, which followed right behind and made his own pale in comparison.

Everything was going to go as expected this year. Sure, he had never liked the spotlight, not as much as Rhy or some other boys and girls at the Sanctuary. Festivities had always made him feel drained, like he was supposed to enjoy them more than he could, but this was a familiar feeling to him. Not like the one he couldn’t put his finger on right now.

This time, he had a sense of unease ever since the adults started to discuss the specifics of the party. And every time Rhy tried to talk to him about the presents he would receive, or he heard the Queen— _Mother_ give instructions to a servant about something she had in mind, he wished to disappear. So he fled to the only place he could: the Sanctuary.

There, no one would discuss whether they should go with the soothing purple of forget-me-nots or a livelier shade of blue for the tablecloths. In fact, there would be little talk if he did not look for it. 

So as the week went on, he just nodded “Yes,” to anything the Queen asked his opinion on under the guise of absent-mindedness, and when there were two options, he just forced himself to mumble out whichever came easier. And then, at first opportunity, he found himself at the Sanctuary, studying with Master Tieren. And when he was busy tutoring other students, his refuge became the library or the study, reading more and challenging books than was required so he wouldn’t have to think.

It took the younger sibling, Rhy, two days to start complaining and four to ask Kell to take him too. Kell accepted with the promise that he wouldn’t talk—not too much at least. Spending time with Rhy, cheerful, energetic Rhy, who would surely bring the topic to his birthday was still preferable to idling the week away at the palace.

However, as it is well-known from snowcapped mountains of Vesk to wind eroded plains of Faro that children their age have a gift for picking at scabs that are going to bleed and hurt no matter how many times they’re told not to. Especially a boy like Kell, too curious at times and prone to overthinking, accompanied by Rhy, just as inquisitive and twice as stubborn, was left with no option but discover what lurked under his unease.

After almost an hour of Kell's studying and Rhy's attempts at keeping himself occupied without striking up a conversation, the younger sibling didn’t have the faintest clue what was so nice about the Sanctuary that Kell loved to spend his time there. Its whitewashed walls with little decoration and sparse but sturdy furniture always resembled him somewhere someone would be sent for punishment. He had no idea why anyone would prefer this place of rules and routine to their home: a place with much fewer rules and definitely more colors.

He was just about to say that to Kell, but he remembered his promise. No talking. His brother had to study, for whatever reason, and he was to respect that. He could understand that to some extent; Rhy loved studying certain subjects as well. History, for one, was fascinating to him in a way it wasn’t to Kell. And languages! He didn’t speak Kell’s magic tongue, yet his tutors always praised him for his interest and talent in Faroan, Veskan, and their vernacular Arnesian. But magic was different; you didn’t have to study for it, if you were as good as Kell. And Saints, wasn’t he good! Father had said, he, too, would come into his powers in a few years, and he didn’t have to worry, but seeing Kell, Rhy was sure he would never be as good as his brother. And he was also sure that he would always use his birthdays as an excuse not to study, magic or not. So why did Kell become as scholarly as Master Tieren all of a sudden?

“Can I say something?” He finally gave in to his curiosity.

Kell looked up from the page he was reading, and smiled. “Since when do you ask permission to speak? Go ahead.”

The younger prince looked relieved. Returning the smile in all its sincerity and with much more intensity, he complained in a lighthearted tone, “You told me not to speak and I’m about to lose my mind if we spend another ten minutes in this room in silence.” He sighed with his cheeks puffed out dramatically, a playful display of boredom with some truth to it.

Even if Rhy wasn’t that serious, Kell felt a pang of remorse at having brought him to a place with only books on magic, practically useless to his brother. Turning his head to look at him, he promised, “Okay, after that, we’re doing whatever you want. I just need half an hour!”

He didn’t want to explain to go back to the palace the day before his birthday meant someone would certainly pester him. _Sanct_ , he hadn’t even tried on the clothes ordered for tomorrow!

“But why? Tomorrow is your birthday and we’re reading books older than Father and Master Tieren’s ages combined!”

“We?” Kell tried to be playful to skirt around the subject, but Rhy was already set on changing his brother’s mind.

“That’s even worse! You’re not studying with other kids either. And you can come here every other day! We need to see your new coat, I’ve heard mother say it’s red, and we could get some of those little lemon and tangerine pies from the kitchen like we did last year before my birthday! It is so boring here!” The excitement in the boy’s voice was tangible, but the effect it had was the opposite of convincing.

“Well, I’m not bored and you wanted to come here.” He was feeling something close to anger—irritation. He felt it bubbling under his skin all week long, looking for an outlet to pour out. But he didn’t know why Rhy was being the catalyst. He was the usual Rhy, and for the most part, he loved his brother for being like that, so himself, so buoyant and excited. There was nothing wrong with little brothers getting excited for your birthday. He was being unfair, but also he couldn’t tell Rhy he didn’t like birthdays anymore. He wouldn’t understand.

Suddenly, Rhy hopped off his chair and going to the other side of the table, reached for the books to Kell’s right.

“Let’s see: title I can’t read, title I can’t read.” He tossed two black leather-bound books on the table and continued, “This one is ‘Blood Sigils’. How interesting!” Another one ended up in front of Kell with a thud. And as Rhy was going at it to show how boring these books were and how much fun it would be if they just headed back home, Kell sprang up from his seat and grabbed the younger boy's wrist.

With his expression, hard to read and face, ashen white, he looked more frightening than furious. He knew other kids found him scary with his unusual complexion, towering height and the black eye he was learning to hide, even when he wasn’t trying. Yet his brother stared back at him, simply shocked.

“Don’t insult them! You have no idea what this, these—” He pointed at the books in front of him with his free hand almost frantically and continued, “mean to me, do you? Some of us just don’t care about fondant cakes, fruit pies and people fawning over us as much as you do! I said I wanted to study, can’t you respect that?!” He was aware he was saying things he would regret, but he needed to let it out. “Do you even care about my made up birthday or do you need another reason to have fun and draw the attention to yourself?” High pitched and shaky, his voice grated his own ears.

From his words to his voice, Rhy took everything in as he silently witnessed the other’s emotions overflow and spill as if his head were a glass that could contain them no longer. The shock he felt at witnessing such an outburst for the first time turned to acknowledgement and disappointment in his warm brown eyes.

He didn’t step back or pull his arm free before Kell let go of his wrist, but that was worse. The younger boy didn’t say anything for a few seconds, visibly struggling to find the words, an upsetting rarity. And then he muttered an apology, “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like attention as much as I do, but I thought, I thought you’d like it from me.” Feeling tears start to form in his stinging eyes, he rubbed at one of them with his free hand, he would not cry. “Because I like it best when it comes from Mother and Father or you. I wasn’t aware—I didn’t think I was making you feel that way. I’ll leave you alone.”

Just as Rhy never saw Kell like that, Kell never saw Rhy so serious and somber. He cried a lot when Isiva, their dog, died of old age two years ago and refused to even eat, but that was different. Never was there resignation in Rhy’s sadness, it had always been like the wild waves of the ocean that came with intensity and vigor and broke soon after as all waves do.

The older boy opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say. Rhy was quicker. “Don’t. I know the exit and I’ll tell Mama the Master gave you too much to read; you can stay as much as you want.” Rhy loved to talk and to play, but he wasn’t going to make people as uncomfortable as Kell was because of him. Of course his mother would say it all came down to manners, but no, he just didn’t want to make his brother feel bad. Too much. He was being too much again.

Before Kell could say anything, before he could explain the problem was not Rhy being anything, he left the room with slouched shoulders a slowness to his step. Kell only heard the door click softly.

Now as he leaned on the table, his hands grasped the crude wood of the table with all his power, knuckles white under the pressure and his palm hurting, and he cursed himself for his stupidity. He wasn’t exactly wrong about what he said to Rhy but it was uncalled for, misdirected, and it didn’t make his situation any better. Now Rhy was sad too. Sitting back, shoulders hunched, elbows on the table, he continued to blame himself silently. He had no right to be upset over this. He was just a selfish boy.

There were kids that would give everything for the kind of party he was going to have, and he wasn’t even entitled to one, he was simply given. Was it even his birthday? His real birthday? Not the date he was simply found Saints know where, like some stray dog Rhy or the Queen would have pity on.

He didn’t know, and he couldn’t ask. But he was finally admitting to himself that this was why he had decided he hated birthdays and refused to talk about it for days. He had been thinking about that mark on his arm all year long ever since the day he noticed it. He spent a lot of time at the library, both the one at the Sanctuary and the palace—once again, much to younger prince’s annoyance—to find what it meant.

The memory rune it was called. The rune that meant he forgot, that he was incomplete. He was missing something he would never know what. He hadn’t shared that discovery with his family or Master Tieren. He didn’t even think they would tell him the truth now if they had not once mentioned he was carrying the mark of a capital offense on his body.

Against such thoughts, he had battled the whole year, yes, but he’d thought he moved on from this. He hadn’t admitted to himself that was the reason behind the alien sense of disquietude he felt. And he was starting to think that was a good decision.

Ignoring and just keeping himself busy was easier than the questions that came rushing now. Why did he even care that much? He had always known the King and the Queen weren’t his real father and mother, not by blood. Not like they were Rhy’s. That wasn’t new to him. He grew up with this knowledge, not even finding it awkward or tragic. He still didn’t find it tragic.

But the problem wasn’t the life he had with the Maresh family. He knew them; he had memories with them, of them. His first months at the palace, imposing and foreign, not wanting to talk to anyone… Rhy’s curious looks and attempts at playing with him… Later, more clearly, Queen Emira telling both boys bedtime stories so they would take their afternoon naps… King Maxim taking both of them on a walk in the marketplace, as each clasped one of his strong hands, a few guards following them at a comfortable distance…

That was family. Familiar. He had to be grateful, and he believed he was. None of these were why he felt bad about his birthday. It was the memories he didn’t have. He was a year Rhy's senior, but his memories were missing five. How has his first five birthdays been? Was there any he could remember if he hadn’t been marked? Was he even born in summer? Or did he open his eyes to a world in deep slumber, covered with snow? On the eve of the spring celebrations? And more importantly, why did this matter so much?

Left on his own, he could have give up on controlling the tears that threatened to fall, but the knock at the door, three times rhythmically—Master Tieren—saved him from that. 

“Come in,” he said, voice almost a whisper.

“ _Aven_. I saw Prince Rhy leave almost running. Is something the matter?” Tieren asked, straight to the point, as he closed the door behind him.

So it didn’t take Rhy long to get a hold of his emotions again. That was good. Kell tried to smile, but even the thought of lying to Master Tieren left a sour taste in his mouth, and he was sure the man would figure out what was wrong. He simply chose to admit, “We argued, and I think I upset him.”

The man stroked his gray beard pensively without saying anything. After a pause that seemed longer than his entire morning to Kell, Tieren simply inquired, “And you? Are you upset?”

He was. But not because of Rhy. Not because of anyone really. “Yes, but it’s also my fault.”

Tieren walked over to the table, and pulling up the chair Rhy had sat, he took his place next to the young Antari. The boy turned up to him with expectance in his eyes, as if the Head Priest could offer a solution to a problem he couldn’t even name. But Tieren continued to take his time, looking at him with his discerning gaze. And finally, he spoke, “It doesn’t matter what the source of your sadness is. Accept it as it is, wallow in it if you want, but learn to move from it as well.” He took Kell’s hands in his and looked into the boy’s both eyes. He was one of the few people who didn’t avoid his black eye. The Queen and Rhy were probably the remaining others.

“ _Priste ir Essen. Essen ir Priste_.” he added in the vernacular before continuing in the royal tongue, “It doesn’t apply on to magic, my boy. You can’t live on happiness and calm all the time. When sadness or anger comes, you need to accept it without going too far and welcoming it permanently into your life.”

Kell was glad he didn’t ask why he was sad. Talking about sadness in general was easier than naming why he was in the first place. He was merely beginning to explain this tangled mess that were his feelings to himself, but what Tieren said had a comforting effect on him. He needed to know one more thing. “And it’s not selfish to be sad when people expect you to be happy?”

“Others might want to see you happy, that’s natural. But if you are to accept your emotions as they are, without guilt, without shame, what do you think others should do?” His voice was no softer than the one he always used with the boy, and for that the boy was grateful. He could see that his inner turmoil didn’t alter the _onase aven_ ’s perception of him and it calmed him down a bit. Like guessing the answer to a riddle he didn’t know, he hesitated, “Respect how I feel, try to understand it?”

Tieren nodded slowly. “Just don’t forget you need to do the same. Respect how you feel, understand it. Take your time. Speaking of time,” he said, turning his head to look out at the window, like the sun outside was a clock that told the time with precision, “I need to go. You can stay here as long as you want. I will be in the garden for the rest of the afternoon. You can also join me, if you want.” Kell wasn’t sure what he wanted to do now. “Or you can go where you think you want to be.” With that, he squeezed Kell's shoulder gently, got up and headed for the door.

The boy was silently watching him for lack of anything to say. Before leaving, the Head Priest came to a halt in front of the door with his hand on the handle and turned to look at the boy watching him. “Ah, I almost forgot! _Aven_ and an early happy birthday. May the saints be there for you and guide you in your new age.”

To this, Kell didn’t frown and the irritation that bubbled under his skin all week had… Simmered down? He just nodded, knowing no audible “Thank you,” would be expected by Master Tieren.

Another click at the door. And he was left alone with his thoughts once more. He could struggle with them as much as he wanted, and he still wouldn't get any closer to learning if tomorrow was the anniversary of the day he came to the world.

Yet he was starting to realize something: it was still his birthday. Of a sort.

Even if it only meant the start of his new life, the one with the memories he actually did possess, it was his birthday. And in this life, he had a brother to whom he owed an apology, a dress rehearsal he was running late to, and pies they could pilfer from the kitchen when the chef wasn’t looking.

───────

Rhy didn’t tell anyone anything and just hid himself in his room. It wasn’t unusual for the prince to get tired and take long naps in the late afternoon as the sun filled the room with a golden glow. He would then come to dinner with slightly puffy eyes and renewed energy.

He was still glad his mother didn’t see him, because he had a feeling she could always tell when something was wrong, and something was horribly wrong. He couldn’t have handled seeing her worry for him. _Because of him._

He didn’t know what he did wrong this time. He really cared about Kell’s birthday, because it was Kell’s birthday and they would have fun. Not because he wanted to draw attention to himself. But why would his brother think _that_ , if he hadn’t acted like that? He seemed to have a way of sooner or later putting a frown on everyone’s faces: worrying his mother, disappointing his father, and now making Kell not like him anymore. But was he that bad really? Couldn’t Kell not be mad at him and just understand? And what did he even mean about a made-up birthday?

Having too many questions wasn’t an issue only Kell was struggling with today. When he entered the prince's room he found Rhy sitting on the red velvet sofa by the window, struggling with his own questions in silence. But sitting was an understatement here. His head hanging off the edge of the sofa with legs up on the headrest, and eyes closed, he just shut himself off to the world. Kell thought he must have heard the door open, but his brother didn’t even open his eyes to see who it was.

He hesitated before calling out. It was not going to be easy for Kell. He wasn’t good at apologies, _sanct_ , he wasn’t good at talking, and he didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. Hurt feelings, sure, but that was too vague.

“Rhy.” His voice rang out clear in the silent room. It was enough to pry Rhy away from his thoughts and bring back to the material world. 

The world all tilted, he saw Kell’s shoes first, but didn’t shift in position. If his brother wanted silent, he could give him silence.

A simple “Hmm,” was all Kell could get in return, and he couldn’t think of an apology that would make it fine, a joke that would unfreeze the ice that was setting in. Taking another step toward the sofa, he tried his best. “I just wanted to say I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I’m sorry, Rhy.”

Rhy agreed with that. He was blaming himself minutes ago, but at the same time, he wasn’t entirely convinced that just being himself was deserving of Kell's anger. “You shouldn’t have,” he replied calmly, and in contrast with this calm, he abruptly came down and sat up, crossing his legs. “And I’m mad at you for that. But I also shouldn’t have poked fun at your studies.” The prince smiled faintly as he patted the empty spot next to him. Yes, he was mad at Kell, mad at himself, but he had no energy to pout all day. Kell did that enough for both of them the entire week.

Kell felt like a fool. Despite the all the doubt he held, all it took for his family—or was it just Rhy that was so forgiving—to welcome him back was a weak apology. Having walked the remaining distance between him and the sofa, he just plumped down and let out a sigh, half relieved, half frustrated with himself.

Turning to the boy next to him, he attempted to explain, “It wasn’t your fault. I haven’t been myself this entire week. Rhy, I don’t know if you’ll understand but I have been dreading this birthday.”

Rhy was just listening to him, observantly, but this elicited a surprised “What?”

“It’s just—I don’t even know if it’s my real birthday. And that’s fine—it’s fine now. It just simply wasn’t this entire week and I snapped when you expected me to be happy about it.” There, he said it out loud. Wasn’t that a part of experiencing the hurt and moving on?

“Of course it’s your real birthday!” the younger boy exclaimed. “And why didn’t you tell me you were upset?” He seemed hurt by that more than anything else as he lowered eyes. Rhy felt stupid for not having realized something was amiss.

But Kell didn’t take his time to think again. “I didn’t even really realize what I was upset about. It felt selfish to complain.” He kept the part where he thought Rhy wouldn’t understand to himself, not to spare the younger boy’s feelings, but because he thought it was unfair to him.

“Well, don’t do that again. You’ll just make me look more selfish; I complain about more things than you do.” The prince smiled once again, this time with more ease, more like himself.

At that admission, a soft smile tugged at the corners of the Antari as well, and he asked, “So we are fine again?”

Rhy wanted to scoff at the question. Of course, they were! However, if Kell had doubts, maybe he could use them to their advantage. “Let me think,” he replied, trying to suppress another smile. “Only if you promise to talk to me when you’re sad the next time.”

Relieved, Kell enthusiastically answered, “Deal!”

Then assuming a mock seriousness that could only be inspired by Maxim Maresh’s stern look, Rhy extended a hand. “Oh but we need to shake hands on it.”

Shaking Rhy’s hand with a laugh, the young Antari got up to go and turned to his brother. “Now that we got this out of the way, hurry up! We’d better find Mother for the rehearsal, a little bird told me my new coat is a very flattering shade of red!”

───────

Eventually, after spending the rest of the afternoon at a last-minute rehearsal with the royal tailor, her apprentices and the Queen, and then taking his leave with Rhy to read and chat as they ate tangerine pie in Kell's room, Kell Maresh was starting to think maybe he didn’t hate birthdays as much as he’d thought.


End file.
